Daniel

The car pulled into a roadside diner. Daniel Glass used the excuse of going to the restroom to give Song Ya and Hayden a chance to talk alone. He was a textbook white elite: dressed in a suit, with the bronze tan of someone who spent a lot of time at the beach, a trim build, and a steady, perceptive manner. In the car, Song Ya had been giving him nothing but vague, noncommittal responses, barely engaging with him.

"What are you doing?"

The two of them slid into a booth. Hayden pointed toward the restroom and said, "Last year, EMI acquired SBK. Do you know how much it went for? Three hundred million! This guy's a big shot. You have no idea what a huge opportunity is right in front of you! Don't throw a fit!"

"FXXXYOU!" Song Ya rarely swore, but this time he was genuinely pissed. "Did you hear something outside the door last time?! Did you? Otherwise, you'd never have thought to bring someone from a major record company to meet me!"

"Yeah, that's right. I heard almost everything outside the door."

Hayden admitted it without hesitation. "Pablo was right. We have to bring in a big company to handle distribution, or Old Joe will screw things up. He doesn't understand the modern music business at all."

"I don't care whether he understands it! Wait, I think I need to make something clear to you."

Song Ya confronted Hayden with a serious expression. "You're my manager, and I'm your employer. You can't make decisions on your own about certain things. At the very least, you should've called and asked me before bringing someone here! If Old Joe finds out you brought someone from a major record company to meet me, what's he going to think? He'll think I'm betraying him! This isn't about money—it's about my life! Didn't you see those gang members at Joe Music?"

Hayden froze. He clearly hadn't even considered that. "I'm sorry. I apologize..."

He clasped his hands together. "I still underestimated how... dangerous the South Side could be. But you have to understand, it's hard for me to turn down Mr. Glass. You're not my only client, and if I'd called you first and you hadn't wanted to meet, I wouldn't have been able to explain that to Mr. Glass..."

"Forget it."

Song Ya had deliberately exaggerated the danger to scare him a little. Otherwise, who knew what kind of trouble this manager might cause him down the line? "Your job now is to hurry up and get the song copyrights and my BMI membership sorted out. Everything else..."

He saw Daniel Glass emerge from the restroom and lowered his voice. "Everything else can wait."

"What's going on? Can I help?"

Daniel Glass sat down across from Song Ya. "I came here in good faith, APLUS. Let's forget about that album. I can authorize a recording contract for you right now, for two years, three years, whatever you want. You can release an album or not, as you please. All you have to do is sign, and we'll pay you a salary. It won't be much, of course—around thirty to forty thousand dollars a year."

"Wow, that's..." Hayden looked at Song Ya.

Song Ya shot him a glare.

"Uh, well, Mr. Glass..."

"Just call me Daniel."

"Sure, Daniel. My employer doesn't want to consider any business matters until he..." Hayden glanced at Song Ya. "Can I say it?"

Song Ya nodded.

"Until he gets his BMI membership sorted out." Hayden turned back to explain to Song Ya, "The copyrights should come through soon. I've already taken care of it."

"BMI?" Daniel looked surprised. He called the waiter over and gestured for them to order something to eat first. "They've always been slow. It'll take two or three months to get through the paperwork." He looked at Song Ya. "You shouldn't have any trouble joining the association with your song Thrift Shop, right?"

"Probably not," Hayden answered for Song Ya. "But my employer is impatient."

"Impatient? Heh..."

After they finished ordering, Daniel asked for a simple meal and took out ten dollars, asking the waiter to exchange it for coins. "APLUS, you grew up in the projects, right? You can turn down forty thousand dollars a year without hesitation, and you're not worried about the sales of Little Lowry's album, which could affect your livelihood. That doesn't sound like an impatient man to me. If his album sells only a hundred thousand copies, you'll get just about five thousand dollars in royalties."

"I'm used to being poor. And poor people from the South Side are naturally wary of people like you..." Song Ya pointed at Daniel.

"I know, I know."

Daniel smiled. He took the food and coins from the waiter and walked over to the jukebox in the corner of the diner. He fed all the coins into it, picked a song, and returned to his seat. "People like us have very little time to spare, so I'm going to try to convince you as quickly as I can."

"Yo! VIP! Ice ice baby... Ice ice baby..."

The jukebox was an old model. Its mechanical arm lifted a vinyl record and carefully set it in place. A rap song began, accompanied by a catchy beat.

"APLUS, do you know why I didn't take you to a fancy restaurant for a big meal, and chose this place instead? Because it has a jukebox. Vanilla Ice, a white guy and one of our signed artists, won't release his album until the end of the year, but this single is already selling well. You can hear it anywhere, even in little shops on the streets of Chicago."

As he ate, Daniel went on, "Do you know what your boss, Old Joe, got wrong? He bet everything on Little Lowry's completely worthless album. I tried to listen all the way through every song, but I'm sorry—I couldn't make it through any of the twelve tracks besides your Thrift Shop. Do you know what Little Lowry's manager got wrong? He went to Warner to negotiate a deal. My God, Warner Records is packed with stars. They won't give that talentless young Black kid from Chicago much support..."

When Vanilla Ice's single ended, a clear female chorus rang out from the jukebox.

"Does this one sound familiar? 'Hold On,' number one on the Billboard singles chart. The Wilson Sisters and Phillips—three white girls, also signed to us. Their album is coming soon, probably in June. See what I'm getting at? SBK's strategy has always been to lead with a single, build up the buzz, and only then release the album. That's exactly what's in your interest, APLUS. For an album, you get one percent. For a single, you get ten percent. If we can handle distribution for Lowry II's album, believe me, I'll toss the other twelve songs in the trash and put everything behind Thrift Shop. I like Thrift Shop. It's all I want."

As Song Ya listened, he realized Daniel was almost completely convincing him. Was this some kind of hypnotic sales pitch? Were real elites really this good?

"I can even make a wager with you."

Daniel pressed on while he had the momentum. "If you help me get in touch with Old Joe and we close a deal, I'll give you an additional three percent on the first million singles, on top of the royalties you're already owed..."

"Three percent of a million singles at five dollars apiece is... a hundred and fifty thousand dollars?" Hayden calculated the figure in his head and couldn't help swallowing.

"That's right. And even if sales don't reach a million, I'll still give you the hundred and fifty thousand. You won't have to put up a thing. All you have to do is help me close this deal!" Daniel pulled out his checkbook, wrote out ten thousand dollars, and slid it in front of Song Ya. "This is a personal referral fee. All you have to do is set up a meeting with Old Joe, and the ten thousand is yours."

Song Ya's fingers, hidden beneath the table, twitched despite himself.

"I can't make those people at BMI do anything, but I can help you recognize your own advantages. I can even help you understand how American society works. All you have to do is rely on yourself, and you can pressure those people at BMI to speed things up and get your membership approved."

That was the final straw.

Five minutes later, Song Ya picked up Daniel's brick phone and called Goodman. "Hey, Chuck, are you free? Come help me out... Yeah, right now... The address is... Don't worry, I'll make it worth your while."